The first part of the patrol went smoothly. You and Mocha walked the perimeter of the facility while the fog reduced visibility. You were preparing to do your patrol of the interior of the building and writing in your patrol log. You noted that fog had prevented a clear view of the perimeter and that Mocha had not alerted you to any ferals or other threats.
Mocha was using the one of the specially designed litter boxes at the site. The design was ingenious, the fluffy handler would fill the box with litter when it had to use the box, the litter activated a pressure sensor that prevented any injuries to the fluffy. The fluffy would then do its business, after it finished and left the box the floor of the box would angle downward and dump the used litter and waste into a disposal system where it was turned into biofuel.
You put the leash back onto Mocha’s harness and scanned your access control badge across the sensor, the doors opened automatically and you began to walk through the halls of the research facility. Your main job was to check the blind spots of the motion sensors and cameras. Normally the motion sensors would sound an alarm after the researchers had gone home for the day, but the RFID chip in your access badge was designed so that the system could remain active while the security team did internal patrols.
As you walked the halls you considered talking to Mocha, especially since the last job you had been by yourself at your post, occasionally encountering ferals. You had heard many different things regarding the nature of fluffies, and hadn’t been able to form your own opinion about them. The ferals you had encountered before were all timid and never offered any resistance when you had to run them off of a property, but you had heard stories from other guards about larger herds lead by “smarties” that needed to be removed by professionals.
By the time you had finished pondering whether or not to try and talk to Mocha your patrol was complete, and good thing too, you weren’t sure if you wanted to be seen on the cameras trying to make small talk with a fluffy. You took Mocha to another litter box and applied the litter, after he finished his business you walked back to the guard station without bothering to reattach the leash and he followed without issue.
When you got back to the station you gave Mocha a bowl of kibble and a red nutrient paste that was designed to imitate tomato sauce, making the fluffy think any food was the fabled “sketti”. From what you understood the fluffies were programmed by hasbio to want spaghetti because of a partnership with Chef Boyardi, and due to how easy it was to make spaghetti after stores began selling imitation noodles that were the same texture as boiled ones. These noodles were in reality a mix of vegetable fibers and artificial starches that enabled spaghetti to be made by putting the imitation noodles and sauce on a plate and just microwaving them. You hated this way of making spaghetti, even if the real noodles nearly doubled in price, you refused to make spaghetti any way other than how your mom did. As you watched Mocha eat the kibble “sketti” you had an idea. “Hey Mocha, how’s your sketti?” Mocha looked up with his mouth red from the paste with his big eyes lighting up “sketti am bestest nummies evah!”. You almost cracked a smile, he didn’t know the difference between kibble and real spaghetti, and you wish you had that blissful ignorance. “I’ll tell you something Mocha, if you can promise to be a good fluffy this first week, I’ll make my special spaghetti for you this weekend”. He looked up and gasped while hopping in place as high as his stubby legs would take him. “Mocha wiw be bestest fwuffy ebah fow speshul sketti, pwomise!”. You smiled and threw a microwave meal in for lunch, it wasn’t much but it would get you through your shift.
You did one more patrol that night before Chuck pulled in the gate around 15 minutes early. You talked about the post, how the first night went, and gathered your stuff, you put Mocha in his carrier and began the drive home, you looked in your mirror to make sure the carrier was secure, seeing Mocha asleep with a smile on his face, you couldn’t help but start to feel attached to the little guy.
You pulled into the driveway of your house about fifteen minutes later, grabbing your lunch bag and Mocha’s carrier before locking the car. It was a modest house, one bedroom, one bath, barely a kitchen, but it was yours, and owning a house that didn’t have the prefix tiny in this day and age means you had lucked out. You unlocked the door and sat Mocha’s carrier down while turning on the light in the small living area. “Hey buddy, we’re home, you gotta wake up so I can show you your new place”. Mocha replied back from the carrier without budging “Mocha namsies am buddy now? Buddy wub new namsies!”. Shit, is this what everyone that despised fluffies was talking about? Before you could correct him you heard Buddy giggling to himself “Am joe king, Mocha wemembe namsies”. He pranced out of the carrier and looked around, his eyes lightning up at the site of an automated litter box and timed kibble dispenser, you’d even set up a baby pen with some toys for him. You were still sort of stunned from a fluffy display a sense of humor, and promptly raided the fridge for a beer and sat on the couch to unwind. Mocha explored his new surroundings and peeped happily at each new discovery, eventually standing at your legs after having fully explored. “Daddeh, Mocha am happiest fwuffy ebah, tank ou fow aw de toywsies and wub!”. “You’re very welcome Mocha, I’m glad you’re enjoying your new home so much, after you make good poopies you can even get on the couch”. Mocha puffed his cheeks slightly and nodded triumphantly “Mocha make bestest poopies fow bestest daddeh!” And immediately went to the litter box. Thank goodness it was self cleaning, you’d heard the stories and even from Mocha’s quick trips at work you could tell fluffies digestive systems produced the vilest shit possible. After Mocha went to the box he used the senior dog stairs placed by the couch to huddle up next to you. You sipped your beer and watched old television from the early 2000s on googletube before finally starting to feel tired, Mocha had fallen asleep again so you carried him to your bedroom and placed him on his bed. You weren’t sure how much cushion he needed so you used a large dog bed and bought some cheap blankets, placing Mocha down softly onto the nest of cloth as he snored quietly. You left the door to the living room cracked and hoped he remembered where the litter box was, and that he wouldn’t freak out when he woke up in a different room. You sat on your bed and set your alarm to prepare for the next night at work, thankfully they started you on a Thursday to ease you into it. As you laid in bed and closed your eyes you heard Mocha “Wub ou daddeh, hab gud sweepies.” You nearly teared up and a warm feeling settled in your chest. Maybe caring for this fluffy would give you the purpose you’d been looking for for so long; you thought about that until you drifted off to sleep.